


Road to Nowhere

by demon_faith



Series: Remade [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_faith/pseuds/demon_faith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce failed to find Dick the first time. It will not happen again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the completion of my AU trilogy 'Remade' that started with Revenge is a kiss and continued in Crack of sunlight, crack in the mirror.

It had been two months since he opened his eyes and saw Dick Grayson's staring back at him.

Since then, he had watched the footage again and again, watching the man who had been a boy when he'd last seen him, grown into something ugly and corrupt in such a pretty shell.

Alfred had found him about ten minutes after Dick had made his escape. He thought Bruce had gone mad at first – Bruce almost believed it himself – but they watched the video with bated breath, heard the words, saw the movement, knew that it could be no one else.

He ordered everyone he could think of to the Batcave immediately. There was no time to waste. They needed to find him whilst he was still in Gotham, while the trail was hot. He couldn't lose him again.

Barbara and Tim were first, curious but silent. Clark arrived next, also puzzled and slightly more vocal. Bruce made him wait, made them all wait, knowing he couldn't say it more than once while his mind was tying itself in knots. Dick was alive. Dick was trying to kill him, perhaps, but alive! Nothing mattered except the life pulsing through his veins.

Then Wally arrived, even more confused, and finally Roy appeared, as the night headed for dawn, unhappy with the summons, hating him and making no secret of it.

"Dick is alive," he said, simple words that almost threatened to choke him, and then there was silence. Barbara clapped her hand to her mouth, bending double with the shock, as Roy and Wally held on to each other, disbelief and anguish on their faces. Tim remained silent, only knowing the symbol not the boy – the man – and therefore unable to comprehend. Clark tried to touch Bruce's shoulder, to comfort, but the Bat shrugged him off.

"How do you know?" Roy demanded and Bruce explained the disguise, the attempted murder, the escape. Roy did not believe him. He showed him.

"It can't be him," the archer insisted, stubbornly, but Wally stopped him leaving, made him look again.

"What do you want us to do?" Clark asked and Bruce realised he didn't actually know, hadn't thought beyond telling them, driving them to some purpose he hadn't planned at all.

"We need to get out there now," Roy said. "We're running out of night."

Wally took hold of him then and they left, to search his city. Barbara followed, telling Tim to stay and "keep watch". Batman surrendered his computer, whilst Clark led him aside.

"Are you sure?" was all he said. Bruce nodded. Clark smiled faintly.

"Then I'm sure," he said, and flew away, presumably to search as well. Bruce could join them – he knew the city best, after all – but his head was light from whatever drug Dick had given him and he had no idea where to look.

"Sit down now, Master Bruce," Alfred said gently, leading him into the infirmary and fussing about him. His head hurt. His mind whirred. Dick was alive.

"He mentioned Slade," he murmured.

"So Master Dick is…" he paused, unable to say the words.

"An assassin now. He said as much." Bruce had seen it in his eyes. He had killed for money. It was a dark taint.

"His disguise was convincing." It was not a question. Bruce swallowed hard and turned away. He would not think about it – how he had been drawn in, intrigued by the barely-tamed creature before him, yearning for the touch and the chase and the conquest.

His playboy life was a chore to maintain an illusion, but that evening the attraction had been real. He'd been…eager.

Slamming his hand down on the bed, he rose and swept into the Cave, demanding answers from Nightwing. The boy stuttered a little but produced a number of leads. Bruce sent them out to the searchers.

Then, he waited.

They came back when the sun was up, all together, grim and excited and gutted all at once. They had found Dick's hideout. Yet there had been no sign of where he might be now, and from Clark and Roy, that was a terrible confession.

He went to the place, alone, with Wally standing guard until he arrived. This was something he had to do alone, out of self-recrimination and mental anguish perhaps, but Wally understood enough to leave.

There was a large pinboard with his schedules neatly printed, details of his nightly patrols for the past month, photographs of him in both guises and sketches, dozens of sketches, detailing clothes and make-up and padding. There were flyers for gallery openings and a list of powerful men who might be there, who would later socialise with Bruce.

It was thorough and it was devastating. Dick had been planning for a long time. Batman carefully removed all the evidence and bagged it until the board was just scarred cork once more.

Next, he moved on to the dressing table. It was a riot of colour, make-up and perfumes shoved together to form a collection any Gotham socialite would envy. There was nothing but the dust of eyeshadow, flakes of lipstick and pools of spilt nail polish. Nothing here but Mary.

He had pushed the thought away and moved on to the mirror. Dick's handwriting – in lipstick? – on the mirror, smudged here and there with fingerprints. He didn't care about being caught, about leaving evidence behind. Perhaps he had given up, or perhaps he was confident of escape. The smears of red told him little, but the words stabbed him through the heart.

Dick doubted them all. Every last one of them, even though they'd been…so close.

Batman gritted his teeth and pushed on. He found a notebook on the floor. Jim Gordon, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake. The three were connected to each other – but what did they mean together? How was the police commissioner related to Nightwing? It made no sense.

Then, he found the portfolio, but he could not look at it, the negotiations of death, and he placed it in a bag. Finally, he found a sheet of paper with columns, ordered and formal, structured. This was something he knew how to deal with – a detective's work.

Jim and Barbara were his certainties – it made sense he supposed; she had been away when he disappeared, and Jim would mention Robin from time to time. Batman always flinched away.

Tim was a possible. So were Wally and Roy. That made no sense. They were close, the Titans – perhaps too close, but he had never said that. He knew it would only push Dick away. Push him away. If only he had known then – what would he have done? Taken him to his bed? Destroyed him with his selfish needs?

Bruce shook away those thoughts. He was Batman. That was all he was. That was all he had.

There had to be more evidence. The other columns were left unfilled, yet he had more names. The work was incomplete. Dick was a better detective than that. Batman turned the room upside down before he found what he was looking for.

Another piece of paper. Another list. This was different though – this cored him, these "facts" that Dick was clinging to, that made him. This was the world Bruce should've prevented from ever coming to pass.

Robin was on the warehouse roof…Robin had been attacked…Robin had been tortured…the pen had faltered here; Bruce shuddered.

Slade had rescued Robin. Slade! Bruce had let that murderer touch his Robin, be there when he had long given up, had thought his boy dead. Ignorance was no defence – he should never have wavered for a moment, should have searched until he had been certain, had brought his Robin home, had made him whole.

It was a crumpled man who held the paper, shaking in his gloved hands, knowing he had done this, that he was responsible, that somehow he had to make it right.

Dick was still alive. This time, he would not give up until he found him.

That had been two months ago. There was nothing else in the basement of note, nothing to suggest where Dick could've gone, where he might be staying, what he might be doing. He had beaten every assassin he could lay hands on and they all knew him – the Renegade, Slade's pet, Slade's…special boy – but heard he went underground, a personal piece of work that he would tell no one about.

He had not yet spoken with Slade. That day would be worth relishing, but its time had not yet come. He could be patient though. Dick was out there. He knew it, deep in his bones.

Bruce played the tape again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good afternoon, Mr Wayne! Enjoy your lunch!"  
  
It had been clear to him for some time that Clara wanted to be his "personal secretary". He waved politely to her and nodded to the doorman who gave him a winning smile. There was definitely something in the water.  
  
He had discovered a new coffee shop across the street from Wayne Enterprises. It was a small, family-run affair and did apple turnovers that made your tongue melt. He was going to grab a sandwich and then head back to discuss strategy with Lucius before the two o'clock meeting. The apple turnover could wait for another day.  
  
Laura grinned when he opened the door. "Mr Wayne! Take a seat! Coffee? Apple turnover?"  
  
"No, Laura, thank you. Just a sandwich."  
  
She nodded seriously. "Chicken with lettuce, tomato, no mayo?"  
  
"Got it in one." He perched on the stool and watched the occupants of the café. A couple were arguing quietly in the window, whilst an old man rustled his paper nearby, clearly listening in. A girl with purple hair stirred her coffee three times clockwise and then once anticlockwise, before starting the ritual again, all the time scribbling in a leather-bound book with a stub of a pencil. He watched her for a whole minute, absorbed in the choppy rhythm of her movements.  
  
"Here's your sandwich, Mr Wayne. It's on your tab."  
  
He looked up at the girl behind the counter and smiled as he took the bag. "Thanks, Amie. See you tomorrow."  
  
It was so easy to fall into a routine, to forget that he was meant to be on a mission. He pushed open the café door with a sigh, heading back into the world. Tomorrow, he would take a proper lunch break, really dedicate some time to this issue. The longer he left it, the further away Dick would be. He couldn't afford to let him run that far; he had to bring him back, where it was safe, where he could be protected.  
  
Avoiding the eyes of the doorman and the enthusiastic Clara, he made his way back to his office, preparing to concentrate on the business of the day.  
  
~  
  
He had cut patrol short to work on his leads. Clark had heard nothing despite listening for Dick on various Gotham rooftops. This meant that Dick had left town and headed out somewhere else. Blüdhaven was the nearest city, drowning in its own filth; Dick would have to be desperate to go there, but he might just be that close to the edge.  
  
Bruce had finally come to terms with the fact that he didn't know the boy at all. He had only seen a glimpse, an ugly glance through a fractured mirror, and he had no idea how Dick thought now, how he would act, where his certainties and his safe havens were. He was acting from the knowledge of a boy he had once known and not the unbalanced murderer whose world had crumbled beneath him.  
  
Uneasy, he turned off the monitors, alone in the dark of the Cave, and wishing Mary's voice would carry through the shadows.  
  
~  
  
"More coffee, Mr Wayne?"  
  
It was hour two of his self-imposed power break and his brain was about ready to implode. He mustered a weary smile for Laura, who poured him another cup and slid an apple turnover next to his sketchpad. "That one's free," she said conspiratorially, and he genuinely smiled.  
  
"Thank you," he said and meant it. Leaning back in the chair, he realised he was the only one left in the café. Russell was whistling as he cleaned out the coffee machine and Amie was clearing tables. She was wearing thick beige tights, which must have been stifling in the Gotham heat, but she didn't seem to mind, long blue jumper covering her wrists and her neck and skirt flapping about her shins. A domestic abuse case if ever he'd seen one.  
  
Laura kissed Russell on the cheek, leaving a deep red print on his skin and he blushed slightly, locking eyes with Bruce as if to stake a claim. Bruce lowered his gaze back to his sketchbook and drew another outline of Dick's face. It hadn't changed all that much, really, if you knew what to look for. How had he missed him? How had he not instantly known that his boy was with him…teasing him…kissing him?  
  
He concentrated on the lines of the pencil, trying not to dwell on those thoughts. They tormented him every day but he had to push them back if he was ever going to do any work.  
  
Too late, he spotted Clara at the café door, and she quickly planted herself across the table from him. "Mr Wayne! Well, just fancy seeing you here!"  
  
She giggled ostentatiously, glancing around at the other café dwellers. Laura disappeared into the back room and Amie continued to wipe down surfaces, pretending she wasn't there. A sensible strategy, and one he wished he could employ.  
  
"Clara. Is something wrong?"  
  
The frown wrinkled her brow in a perfect 'W' as her lips parted slightly – she was good, he'd give her that. And if he didn't want a sexual harassment suit on his desk, she would be a perfect ornament for a dozen society functions or more. As it was, he had to stop this ridiculous flirting before any paparazzi caught them.  
  
"Wrong, Mr Wayne? Why, of course not! I'm just taking my coffee break. Hey, you! Cappuccino, no sugar. Mr Wayne's tab."  
  
Bruce resisted the urge to deny that he knew her, as Amie fetched the drink, bringing it over with careful hands, not spilling a drop. She set it down before Clara, who nodded in a disaffected manner.  
  
"Thank you, Amie," Bruce said warmly, and her eyes met his briefly before skittering away. Definitely domestic abuse and he would have to look into that. Batman could always pay her gentleman friend a polite call one evening. Maybe then little Amie would smile.  
  
Clara prattled on about Wayne Enterprises' shares, as Bruce closed his sketchpad, knowing that his concentration was broken and he had no hope of retrieving his train of thought. Politely, he excused himself from the café and went back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

There had been some reports of vigilante activity in Blüdhaven. He had dismissed it almost instantly – there was no reason for Dick to go back to those ways, not when he had been burned so badly in the past. No, he would be taking work as an assassin, if he were to take any work at all.

Through some of his underworld connections, Batman had ascertained that Renegade was a skilled artisan, well-respected in the community and known to be fairly wealthy from his exploits. He had been linked to every significant death in the last two years, including the ones that had been ruled as accidentals (a mark of a professional, they had said sagely), right up until his disappearance almost eight months ago.

Rumours had spread that he'd been hired by the government or some influential gangster as a private assassin. Not one person believed he was dead. Some even believed he couldn't die. If Batman wasn't crumbling inside, he could almost have been proud of his boy and the legend he'd created, almost enough to rival his own.

No one had ever seen Renegade's face. When dealing with the shadows of the underworld, he wore a red and black mask, but when he killed...nobody knew. He entered locked rooms, he was silent as the grave and he was a master of disguise.

There were no leads. There was no way of knowing Dick Grayson if he passed him on the street.

But he would keep looking.

~

Candy was an artist. She had wandered over to his table one day and declared that his drawings were "the bomb". She'd shown him how to shade Dick's face perfectly, so that it looked almost real, a photograph or a video frame, immortalised in pencil.

She came to sit with him whenever he stopped at the café, demanding to see his drawings and showing him her pieces in charcoal and pastel. Once, she had caught a glimpse of the Batman outside her window and had committed it to paper; Bruce was scared by the resemblance.

"So, who's the pretty boy? He yours or do you rent?"

For a moment, he was startled by the question but then he shook his head, trailing his finger across the page.

"No, no...he was...he...we were...it's complicated."

"Ah," she said with a knowing smile, twirling a finger through her pink curls. "You fell in love."

"I don't know," he said, honestly, wondering what on earth he was thinking, having this conversation in a public place with a random artist. This kind of information could ruin Wayne Enterprises, could destroy him completely, but he just needed to breathe.

"Did he love you?" she asks, intently staring at his face. Amie refilled their coffee mugs and Bruce nodded at her distractedly, trying to organise his thoughts.

"No. Never." It was difficult to say. Candy just stirred her coffee – three clockwise, one anticlockwise, over and over.

"Unrequited love. The fuel of an artist's soul. Yeah...I could do a great installation with you two. Where's pretty boy now?"

"I...don’t' know."

"Pity," she said, casually, and wandered away. Bruce traced the contours of his boy's face, the coffee cooling in the mug and the apple turnover, slipped beside his elbow, completely unnoticed.

~

Batman finally caught up with Slade Wilson. He was building a house of cards and the top tier tumbled as his door was kicked down.

"Where is he?" he growled and Slade drew his sword, mouth twisting.

"How should I know? He left me months ago. You're too late."

Batman ignored the words, watching the sword. Clearly, this was a lie. Slade would keep track of his pupil, even if he claimed otherwise.

"Tell me the truth, Slade."

They began to circle, Batman kept a blade away. Slade's mouth flickered into a smile.

"I don't know, Batman. Your little Robin had some kind of mission – I had hoped it was to kill you, but it seems he failed in that respect. He never was quite the man I'd hoped he'd be."

He ignored the silent taunt, refusing to acknowledge what Slade implied. Dick would never do that – with anyone. Bruce knew that to his cost.

"But I thought you knew that, Batman? How he dreamed of you even when I had him, pinned him, took him." The smile was dangerous, devastating and Bruce held his nerve beneath the cowl, even though his heart was screaming. "Even after I told him how you tried to have him killed, how you wanted him out of the way, how he was compromising the mission. Oh, it was so sweet!"

"He didn't believe you." Batman's voice was steady, level. Slade laughed.

"Oh, he believed me. He worshipped me! Those men knew what they were doing – his body was a wreck and his mind was slipping, but he was still alive. Alive after three years! You have to admire the artistry."

He couldn't bear to think of Dick's body, broken, failing. Of Slade's arms holding his battered Robin, comforting, reassuring, loving...

"You lied to him. He knows that now. He knows everything."

Slade faltered for a second, and Batman kicked aside the sword, slamming him against the wall. "You never knew him at all."

"I knew him, Batman," Slade said, an oily whisper in his ear. "I knew every part of him – intimately." Bruce screamed but Batman reigned him in. "I put him back together and I made him just like me."

"Why? Why did you do it?" He had to know. He had to understand.

"Because I wanted to," his voice was low and dark, sensual and slick. "Because he was so...beautiful. Because I was paid."

"Who paid you?"

Slade grinned. "I think that's enough conversation, don't you?"

He was free in a moment, diving through the window and escaping into the night. And Bruce was no closer to finding Dick.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lost in thought, Big Man?"

Russell always called him "Big Man", and Bruce recognised it as a term of endearment. He nodded absently and gratefully accepted a top-up of his coffee.

He wondered what his tab would come to when he settled it at the end of the month. The paparazzi had stopped taking pictures of him in the café because it was such old news. A few desperate socialites had tried their luck at his table but given up when he clearly wasn't interested. His playboy reputation was trickling down the drain but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Stock," he said, his default explanation for whenever his mind drifted. Lucius kept rolling his eyes every time he used it, so he was going to have to think of something else soon.

"Sure it's not a lady?"

He really needed to be seen with someone soon or _The Gotham Gossip_ would start publishing that story about upper class bondage dungeons again. Lois had torn them to shreds once, but he couldn't allow her to defend him too often.

"Mr Wayne doesn't need a lady, Russell. He has good friends." Laura nodded to herself, and Bruce realised absently that they were probably the closest thing to friends he had.

"I could set you up, Big Man. My friend's got a daughter – you should see the-"

"Russell! The cake is burning!"

A large wink and then he was at Laura's heels, snapping the tea towel across her generous behind. She giggled like a schoolgirl and then they disappeared into the back. Bruce watched them go, smiling wistfully. It would be nice to have someone like that. It would be nice to have anyone at all.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

The dropped cup broke against the table edge, as the hot tea splattered Amie's hands. She excused herself and rushed to the tap, soothing them under the cold spray. Candy rolled her eyes in his direction but he was focused on Amie and the way she rubbed her long fingers over and over, as if she couldn't quite get them clean.

She fetched Candy another cup of tea before bringing over Bruce's three o'clock teacake (apple turnovers were now only for special occasions or treats – Alfred had threatened to put him on a diet).

"Are you all right?" he asked and she nodded, sandy hair falling over her face. Without thinking, he took her hands in his and looked them over, frowning. There were pale white lines along every finger, framed by little dots of scar tissue. How on earth had she got those?

"It was a car accident," she said softly, so that no one overheard. "Put my hands against the dash and whoops, no fingers." She drew her hands away from him and he nodded, unable to look at her.

"That's a lot of surgery," he said thickly and he saw her shrug out of the corner of her eye.

"The end of my college fund," she said and then walked away. He would break the boyfriend's fingers. He would break him like he had broken her.

Batman had a new mission.

~

It was easy enough to find her surname, her Social Security number and her residence. Yet what he found made no sense. Amie Cartwright lived in Blüdhaven – so why was she working in Gotham? Though, he thought to himself, perhaps the boyfriend lived in Blüdhaven. Or it could be her parents' house.

It certainly bore further investigation. However, tonight, he had found a source that placed Dick's last known whereabouts in Metropolis, potentially negotiating a contract with Lex Luthor. It seemed unlikely but he had to go over every possibility.

Clark seemed equally sceptical but promised to tell Bruce if he heard anything. The source had been questioned thoroughly and seemed convinced that he'd seen Renegade's mask. But black and red masks were easy to procure and it could be an imitator or a coincidence.

Still, Metropolis was a big city and the hope of finding Dick there, even if it had been him, was minimal. He nevertheless planted several informants in key places and threatened a number of petty criminals into keeping their ears to the ground. One could never be too cautious.

~

Amie had been off work for the past two days. She had called in sick – something Laura claimed she had never done before – and it sent all of Bruce's senses tingling. If the boyfriend had harmed her in any way…

"I wish she had someone to look after her. All alone in that little flat. She needs…a friend."

"She has friends," Russell said, uncertainly, and Bruce stared into his coffee. She was too old for the Youth Projects, too young for the Seniors Clubs and she didn't need retraining or employment. What could he do for twenty-something with an abusive boyfriend and overwhelming lack of confidence?

He had domestic violence shelters but he also only had suspicions and it wouldn't do to present her with an unwanted "solution". If she wasn't back at work within the week, he would have to pay her a visit at home.

As Batman, of course. He could always make up an excuse. Nobody questioned Batman.


	5. Chapter 5

"The League's worried about you."

"I doubt that, Clark. Pass me the wrench."

The Batmobile was a barely-tamed beast and so he always worked on it himself. It also helped to have somebody to carry it about the place and Clark seemed to enjoy it. They hadn't really spoken in a long while, and perhaps this search for Dick was bringing them closer together.

Bruce could use all the friends he could find.

"Diana wanted to organise an intervention."

Bruce snorted and slid back under the car, tweaking at things until he was forced to acknowledge what Clark had said.

"And what did you say?"

"I said I'd talk to you."

"So talk."

He didn't really have anything left to tinker with under the car but he wasn't going to have this conversation whilst looking at Clark's eyes. He would look just like a kicked puppy and Bruce would find himself saying ridiculous things, making promises – possibly even apologising for something he'd done seven years ago and completely forgotten about.

No, it was safer under the Batmobile. He clanged the wrench against something and then waited.

"They think you've taken Dick's reappearance…badly."

Bruce bit back his anger and hit the car again.

"And what do you think?"

"I think there's something you're not saying."

"Well, what would you like me to say, Clark?" Bruce snapped, pushing himself out from under the car and meeting his eyes with a hard stare.

"Tell me what happened that night, Bruce," Clark said softly, reaching down to him. "When he came back."

Bruce looked away but reached up and took Clark's hand; the Kryptonian easily hauled him up and then he broke away, wiping his hands on a rag and not meeting Clark's eyes.

"I was at a fundraiser. There was…a beautiful woman. She introduced herself as Mary Quinn and…well, I left with her. When I got back to the Manor, the Justice League alarm had gone off and I excused myself to the Cave. Then, she followed me and…shot me with a tranquiliser dart. When I woke up, Dick was staring back at me."

"You were…attracted to her?"

"Yes," he bit out, squeezing his eyes shut. Clark laid a hand on his shoulder. "And I…I kissed her."

The hand flinched. "You kissed…her?" Bruce heard what he didn't say and bowed his head.

"I kissed him," he whispered, "and…I didn't even know."

Clark dropped his hand away. "Oh, Bruce," he said, but Bruce would not accept the pity in his voice.

"So, yes, Clark, the Justice League has every right to be worried." He looked up then, dismissing him with his eyes, broken enough for one day. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some records to check."

~

Amie was back at work the next day. She didn't look hurt and while Laura was watching her closely, there didn't seem to be any cause for concern.

"Coffee, Mr Wayne?" she said, blinking at him from behind her glasses. He'd never realised how green her eyes were.

"Please," he said, leaning casually on the counter. "I didn't see you yesterday."

"I wasn't feeling well," she said, an apologetic note in her voice. He wondered why she did that, acted as if everything that went wrong was personally her fault.

"Aww – did your boyfriend take care of you?" He knew it wasn't subtle, but he needed to know. She looked away.

"We split up," she said, pouring his coffee, hiding behind her hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, trying to sound sincere and failing miserably. She flashed him a hint of a smile and handed over the coffee. Their fingers brushed.

And he felt alive.

He pulled the mug away quickly, mumbling something about the weather and fled to the window seat. What was wrong with him? He was meant to be concentrating on finding Dick, not acting like some silly schoolboy with a crush.

He was out to protect her; that was all. And he would visit the Blüdhaven address, shut the door on it. Then he could concentrate on finding Dick. Yes. That's what he'd do.

Gulping down the scalding hot coffee, he left the shop, not daring to look back.

~

Batman crouched low on the rooftop and scanned the city. He did not know Blüdhaven, but as he absorbed her night, he realised she was cruel, desperate and tainted, darker even than Gotham. He wished Amie had never lived in such a place. He hoped Dick never found his way here.

He was two blocks away from Amie's address. He wasn't sure what he hoped to gain from brooding on this rooftop but he didn't want to step any closer. It was as if this would be the end of an era, the close of a chapter in his life. Which was ridiculous, because he'd still see Amie every day and he would probably come to Blüdhaven again when the need called him.

Still, it seemed somewhat final and he didn't want whatever-it-was to end. For ten minutes, he waited for something to change, but nothing stirred. He had to move eventually.

He ventured onto the next rooftop, padding across it like a tiger, restrained power coiled beneath the surface. Crouching once more, he surveyed the next building. It looked just like a standard apartment block. He could see a couple of lights on, what may have been the glow of candles and many sets of drawn curtains and pulled blinds.

Amie's address was '3B'. From this position, he had no idea which apartment that might be. The building's plans had given him no clue – he would have to enter a corridor. Bruce Wayne could not be seen there and the Batman was hardly inconspicuous. He was grateful that he had packed Matches – the gangster would not be out of place in this part of town.

He crept through an open window in the stairwell and then swaggered down the corridor like he owned it. It was no trouble to find 3B – three of the four screws had been stolen and the plate hung pathetically from the top right corner.

What was his strategy? Should he knock? What would he say? He didn't want to break in – what if she was inside? He stood outside the door, agonising with himself until, finally, he picked the lock.

The door opened against a stack of mail – no one had been here in some time. He flicked the light switch on and off: nothing. This place had clearly been abandoned. He shuffled some of the envelopes, but they were mostly junk mail, addressed to Amie and someone called James Starling. There were a couple of bills, which he pocketed, and then moved on through the apartment.

A few items of male clothing could be seen but nothing to indicate that a woman lived there. There were no photographs, no personal touches – it looked like a crash pad rather than a home. Perhaps Amie's lover was a married man and this was where he saw her, where she had dwelt for a time, a kept woman. It bore consideration.

He found nothing else of note and stepped back into the corridor, carefully locking the door behind him. It seemed he was no nearer to closure on this issue and his search for Dick remained stalled – what was he going to do?


	6. Chapter 6

When he entered the café at eight-forty-nine, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Laura and Russell were stood together at the counter, something spread between them, clearly concerned.

"Something wrong?" he said, and they jerked their heads up to look at him, offering tight smiles. If there was a financial problem, he'd fix it; they were helping him through one of the hardest times in his life and he needed this place. He needed them. He needed-

"Amie's resigned," Laura said, perplexed and Russell shook his head.

"It's the boyfriend. God, I hope she doesn't float."

The thought of Amie taking her own life stopped his heart and it took a moment for him to breathe again.

"Has she…I mean…what does it say?" he managed, finally, and Laura handed it over, inviting him into the huddle, making him part of them.

It was a standard letter, typed hurriedly – a few swapped letters and missed spaces, common grammatical errors and a shaking signature that seemed hesitant and unsure. He held it up to the light and wondered if he could see tear stains.

"I'm worried," he said. Laura took the letter back, her hand trembling.

"What should we do?" she said, her voice a hushed whisper.

"Do you know where she's been staying?" he said, softly, and Russell and Laura exchanged looks.

"The address we have is in Blüdhaven, but I don't think she stays there anymore," Laura confessed, folding the letter again and again until it fitted into the palm of her hand. "She didn't talk about…friends or relatives, nobody close. We might…we might be all she has."

Russell took Laura into his arms and Bruce dipped his head, wondering how he became so involved in these people's lives, how he let himself feel this much pain. Where was Amie? How could he find her? Short of canvassing the entire neighbourhood with flyers…and she wasn't even missing! The police wouldn't even take a second look – oh, they'd assure Bruce Wayne that every little thing was being done, but then they'd stick it in a drawer. And then the _Gossip_ would have it and his little edge of normal would be lost, Amie's life ruined.

"I'll look into it," is what he said and Russell nodded to him gratefully, believing in the power and the money and the American Dream to make everything possible.

He sat heavily on a stool and gripped the edge of the counter. He had no taste for coffee.

~

Every day, he walked into the coffee shop and saw Laura's face light up with hope before crumbling with disappointment when he shook his head. Batman had asked everyone for information – the petty crooks, the prostitutes, the project kids – but no one had seen or heard of her. He'd searched the area for any sight or sound of her, but there was nothing – he could get Clark to listen, but he had never heard her voice and he…wouldn't understand.

Bruce Wayne had even hired a couple of private investigators, and Batman had approached The Question and Renee Montoya for their unique services, both within and without the law. They had found nothing – a literal black hole where a person should be. She had no bank account, no bills, no cell phone, no contracts, no will and no known family. Bruce didn't know what to think.

All he knew was that he was now searching for two people in Gotham City and neither of them could be found. Perhaps he was losing his mind. Perhaps none of it mattered anyway.

Perhaps it mattered too much.


	7. Chapter 7

He told Alfred not to pick him up – the evenings were cooler now, and he wanted to walk around the city for a while, take in the air, pretend it was all okay.

The League had suggested he "rest for a while". That had stung. Clark hadn't been able to look at him. He accepted their decision quietly, avoided contact with other heroes and patrolled the hardest, dirtiest areas of the city, winning back the night. He'd been too lax of late and that had to stop now.

Laura didn't look up now, just talked to him about her: a shared grief. He wasn't sure if they were closer now or further apart, but the café was quieter, a sombre feeling in the air. Candy had declared it "poetry" and had painted some stunning abstracts in grey and red. Laura hung them above the counter. Bruce saw Amie in every one.

So, when he glanced over at the Clocktower, and saw her face, he wasn't surprised or disquieted. He'd seen her a lot recently, in crowds of people moving away from him, across the street. But, when he paused for a moment, he realised the image wasn't shifting; she wasn't fading away.

Amie was standing by the Clocktower.

He crossed the street, as she turned away, and he quickened his steps, coming up behind her and laying a hand to her shoulder. She turned, gasping, and held her hand to her chest. He released her instantly but looked hard and long, drinking in the sight of her.

"Amie," he breathed, "where have you been?"

Her hand fell away from her heart and she smiled at him, an odd little expression he didn't recall seeing before, and scuffed her shoe on the sidewalk.

"Drifting, mostly," she admitted and he reached for her elbow, needing to make sure she was real. She didn't pull away.

"Come for dinner with me," he said, not realising what he was saying until it was out, hanging in the air, and she paused, looking behind her, conflict in her eyes.

"I don't want…I mean…the papers and…"

"Don't worry about that," he said, desperate for her to stay close to him, to make sure she was all right. "I know a quiet place, out of the way." He took a deep breath. "Please, Amie?"

A moment's hesitation and then she nodded. He sighed softly and she slid her arm up to curve around his, a lady strolling with a gentleman, as he led them away from the centre and into South Gotham.

Francesco's was always open and he welcomed them in, showing them straight through to the back and a private booth. Bruce knew he could rely on him for discretion and perfect ravioli and Amie was greeted warmly, her worn greatcoat taken courteously as she slipped into the seat opposite him.

"This is lovely," she said, looking around at the black and white photographs and the Venetian masks on the walls. "Thank you."

"Wait 'til you try the ravioli," he said, grinning, and she smiled back, still clouded perhaps, but a real smile. He was so glad she was alive.

She wore a blue fleece, with a V that dipped to her breastbone and long, soft sleeves. He'd noted earlier that the hem of her jeans was ragged and muddied, her shoes scuffed and her simple black watch had stopped. Why had she been by the Clocktower? Why had she resigned her job? What had happened to the apartment in Blüdhaven? He had so many questions and none that he could actually ask.

"I…didn't want to leave."

He looked up then, but she had glanced away, and then Cesc was taking their order, flashing about the wine list, and he muttered something about "the usual" before Amie ordered spinach gnocchi and braised veal.

The Campari burned his throat, as Amie carefully swirled it in her glass. "Then, why did you?"

"I don't know."

Antipasti came and went, the cheese and meat sticking to the roof of his mouth, suddenly dry with fear. What if he never saw her after this? What if this was the last time he could talk to her, discover her, understand? What if this was the last moment and he let it all slip away from him?

"Where have you been?" he said, finally, and she looked up at him from between the curtains of her hair, her eyes in shadow.

"I had to…get away for a while. It's…complicated."

He reached across the table and touched her hand. "Tell me?"

She pulled away. "I can't."

The _primi_ arrived, and he barely tasted the risotto, watching her eat her gnocchi and refuse to meet his eyes. What had he been thinking? She was scared and he had basically come on to her! Bruce Wayne had a public reputation – excellent for the Bat but unpalatable to the man sitting across from her, desperate to tell her that he wasn't like that, that she had no reason to be afraid.

Tearing apart his pork, he decided on a course of action. He would ask her to return to the café. There, Laura and Russell could take care of her and he could fade into the background, non-threatening and softly-spoken. And then maybe she would realise for herself that he wasn't what the media made him out to be, what he had to be.

Bruce avoiding thinking about his motives and finished his _secondo_ , as she politely arranged her cutlery, and the silvery lines of her scars caught his eye. Broken fingers were agonising – and she endured it all. Perhaps the pain had marked her, driven her into her shell – he wished he could make her see that she was worth something to someone. To him.

He didn't understand himself anymore. Why was he thinking like this? She was under his protection now, whether she knew it or not, and he could not think about her as anything more than a victim to be rescued.

"I'm not…you don't need to save me."

Her hand was splayed on the table, each scar harshly lit on the long fingers, capturing his gaze and refusing to let go.

"I'm not fragile, Mr Wayne. I don't need a protector. I just need…some space. To be me."

The fingers curled into a fist and he looked up at her, her green eyes narrowed behind the glasses. He nodded, realising that he had underestimated the woman behind the quiet exterior. He had been so determined to fix her problems for her, to find her and save her from a big bad something that he'd forgotten that not everyone needs saving.

Maybe Dick didn't need to be saved either.

They picked over the cheese and fruit, before they ordered _panna cotta_ and ate it slowly, not meeting each other's eyes.

"It's Bruce, by the way," he said softly, and she looked up at him then, an odd almost-smile resting on her lips.

"Bruce," she said simply, as if testing the word on her tongue. The warm feeling welled in his chest but he locked it away, smiling back as if nothing was wrong.

The espresso was dark and bitter, and Amie sipped at it, frowning slightly at the odd taste. He memorised her expression, the lines of her face behind the thick frame of the glasses and the wisps of hair. He couldn't leave it like this.

"Will you come back to the café?" he said. She hesitated.

"I don't know," she said. He might have felt better if she'd lied.

"I'd…like to see you there." A pause. "We all would."

"I know that," she said.

The _grappa_ arrived at the table and Amie swirled the glass, leaving the liquor untouched. He drank his quickly, signalling for the bill, knowing he had to keep her with him longer, to persuade her to come back, to know that he had succeeded.

He handed over his card, as Amie set down her glass. His heart hammered against his ribcage – _think, damn you, think!_

Bruce signed the bill as Cesc brought their coats, and he held out Amie's, watching her step into it with an awkward grace, a woman distant from her own body. She did not take his arm as they crossed the threshold into the glow of the Gotham night, hugging her arms tightly around her waist as if cold.

"May I walk you home?" he said, extending his arm to her, and she hesitated again, before taking it.

"You may walk me to the park," she said.

"I'll pay for a taxi," he said, firmly. Her lips twitched.

"I can walk, thank you."

They were silent as they walked, Bruce involuntarily charting the shadows, feeling out the dark corners and deciding they were secure for the moment. Amie watched her feet as she walked and Bruce studied her hair, the odd brown-blonde that appeared golden in the moonlight.

The park gates were open and he led them inside, strolled with her towards the reservoir and then stopped by a park bench. She released him and sat on the wooden seat, staring up at the stars. He looked away.

"You can leave now," she said, with a gentling tone, as if speaking to a small child or a frightened animal. "It's time to say goodbye, Bruce."

He looked up.

And in the glint of the Gotham moon, he saw Robin.

"Dick," he whispered and she turned, before she'd realised, and a gasp escaped her lips.

Instantly, she – he? who? – stood and turned away but he took hold of her shoulder and spun her round to face him, his hand shaking against her arm.

"You…you…how…why?"

"I…don't know."

His fingers closed involuntarily and she tried to pull away.

"That's not good enough, Dick!"

Her arm came free and she held her shoulder like a wounded animal, aghast at his words.

"I'm not him anymore," she said softly. "Don't make me bring him back."

He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. "You…have a home, Dick. You have a family."

She held perfectly still, like a statue made of flesh, her eyes shadowed once more.

"He had that. He's gone. He had to go."

"Dick, please…come home."

"NO!"

Her shout echoed and he stepped closer, trying to calm her down, but she scuttled backwards, watching him warily.

"Then…Amie, will you come with me?"

The transformation was startling. She straightened, dropped her hand from her shoulder and regarded him seriously. "I barely know you."

"You could learn." He didn't even know what he was saying anymore, just knew that he had to make this right, had to keep her – him – them close to him.

"Bruce…you're very kind, but…I have to make my own way."

He heard her say the words but there was nothing behind them but lies. Amie was all a lie. Just like Mary. So, who was this person before him, this figure in the moonlight that had once been his ward, his Robin, and was now a jaded wraith hiding behind the glasses of a falsehood?

"Then…why did you come so close? You…you must've known that I would see you!"

The mask slipped again, just a fraction, and it was Dick's lips that parted in a shaky sigh. "Because I couldn't stay away. I – he – we had to see you. It…doesn't have to make sense."

He sensed that she'd repeated that phrase often to herself, over and over, as she'd stirred his coffee, set up the apartment in Blüdhaven, watched him from the Clocktower.

_It doesn't have to make sense._

"And I have to see you. The real you – whoever that is now. I'll take it, because…I don't know what else to do."

The confession hung in the air like their frosted breath and he hoped that she'd say something, anything. She turned away.

"I…could be in work tomorrow," she said, her voice odd and stilted. "I could make you coffee, bring your Danish. Maybe we could talk some more. I…could like that."

And, somehow, that seemed okay. He could see her, every day if he wanted, and maybe they could go to dinner and maybe they could hold hands in the park, if she could like that, and then there could be something more to his life that this banshee in his soul.

"Tomorrow, then?" he said, resisting the urge to reach out, to bundle her up and take her home right now. Because he could be patient. Because he would wait forever if it meant that one day Dick, or Amie, or someone he could love would come home to him and stay.

"Tomorrow," she said and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art by ](http://pics.livejournal.com/demon_faith/pic/00026z5a) [ ](http://skitty-kat.livejournal.com/profile) [ **skitty_kat** ](http://skitty-kat.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Title taken from 'Amie' by Damien Rice.


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